Breakfast, Interrupted
by windscryer
Summary: School mornings are bad, but this just might be worse. [The Amazing Spider-Man] [Stony] [Superfamily] [Graphic Violence]


I own nothing. More's the tragedy.

Requested far too long ago by my beautiful Jenny, and betaed by my ever patient and loving Lucy.

Happy _oh god so late_ birthday, Jenny!

* * *

A beam of early morning sunshine crept slowly across Tony's face, but he remained blissfully asleep until it got to his eyelid. His nose scrunched and he ducked his head and rolled away from the annoying disturbance. Had he rolled into the broad, warm back like he expected, he probably would have gone back to sleep without even becoming fully conscious.

When he ended up face-down on cool sheets and a dented pillow that smelled strongly of Steve, but was, in fact, _not _Steve, the cobwebs of sleep were brushed aside for instant alertness. His eye popped open and surveyed the empty expanse of 300-count cotton that should have been Steve's spine and ass, and then pushed up and looked around.

He wiped a hand over his face and yawned, then asked, "JARVIS, where's Steve?" He stretched as JARVIS reported a six AM departure in running gear, then flopped back onto the bed.

"Ugh. What time is it now?" He blinked up at the ceiling and debated burrowing back in and going to sleep until Steve returned.

"It is 7:34 AM. I expect Captain Rogers to return to the Tower in the next twenty-five minutes."

Tony exhaled noisily, then rolled over in the direction of the edge of the bed. "Guess I might as well get up," he grumbled, and planted his feet on the floor.

A few moments of thought discarded the idea of a shower. He'd wait for Steve to return and conserve some water, he thought with a mildly lecherous smirk.

Breakfast, though, was an idea worth pursuing, and he padded out and headed to the kitchen, letting his mind idly run over possible projects for the day and wondering if there was anything scheduled. His brain said no, but, well, that was pretty much the whole reason he'd hired Pepper and invented JARVIS, so that conclusion was suspect at best.

He started the coffee and was searching the fridge for milk, having already found cereal and a bowl and spoon, but it was either hiding or gone. With a growing teenager and a highly-metabolized supersoldier in the house, the latter was far more likely.

He cast his marshmallow-laden bowl a forlorn look and said, "JARVIS, call Steve."

"Dialing Captain Rogers," was the dutiful reply.

Tony sat at the counter scowling down at his bowl and wondering if they had anything he could substitute for the milk, but he was pretty sure that vodka and sugary oats and marshmallows would be a terrible life choice. He glanced at his mug, but made a face of disgust. He'd tried that on more than one occasion, driven by desperation, but it never, _never _worked out.

And he had other options today, so he wasn't going to attempt it again. That way lay the crazy.

"Good morning, Tony," Steve's voice came through, interrupting his thoughts, and he looked up and pouted at the picture of his husband—sadly a still, not a video, though it was one of his favorites, Steve's head was ducked, those big blue eyes of his turned up at Tony and the camera. He didn't care if Steve couldn't see his doleful misery, this situation deserved no less.

"No, it's not. I woke up alone and cold and with sunshine stabbing me in the eye and now we have no milk. Why don't we have milk?"

Steve huffed a laugh, but Tony could _hear _him rolling his eyes. "I'm at the store right now, Tony. I just got into line, in fact, and there's only one person ahead of me. Can you wait for me to walk back to the Tower, or should I have Clint come pick me up in the 'Jet?"

Tony let the sadness drop from his tone and asked, "Why are you getting milk?"

Steve paused. "Because we're out? We just had this conversation. What time did you finally make it to bed last night?"

"Not that late," Tony said.

"Mhm," Steve said, the traitor, not even faking like he believed Tony. Which, fair enough, Tony _was_ lying. Ish. Bending the truth a little.

And this was so not the point.

"Seriously, what are you doing at the store? We have 'bots for that. You'll deprive them and they'll get sad. You know how awful it is when they get sad. DUM-E just gets all droopy and whiny—"

Steve exhaled in exasperation. "Tony, I know you love your robots, but there is no reason why I can't pick up a gallon of milk when I'm already out and I know we need it."

Peter shuffled into the kitchen just then, still stretching, and stopped to blink owlishly at Tony.

"What're you doing up, Dad?" he asked.

"Not having breakfast," Tony said, as Peter opened the fridge. "We're out of milk."

Peter made a tragic sound and shut the door, then slumped his way over to Tony's side. He pulled out a stool and sat as Tony lifted his arm and pulled the pliant kid over to where he could plant a kiss on the fluffy bedhead.

"Is that Peter?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Tony said, as Peter's nose scrunched adorably and he cracked one eye to look at the floating display.

"Pop? Where are you?"

"At the store. Getting milk. Think you two can keep until I get back?" he asked dryly.

Peter frowned for a moment, obviously still processing at just-woke-up speeds then said, "Don't we have 'bots for that?"

Tony made a sound of triumph and squeezed Peter's shoulders, earning a grin, and Steve could be heard groaning over the line.

"You're spoiling him, Tony. We specifically discussed this."

"It is not spoiling him! It's preparing him for the world I plan to leave him one day, a world where 'bots go get milk and people don't have to."

Steve snorted. "Yeah, okay, sure— Hold on, I'm up."

There was a rustle of fabric as he pressed the phone to his shirt, ever polite, even when adapting to modern technologies.

"Good morning, Captain," the clerk's muffled voice said. "Is the robot broken?"

Tony snickered and Peter huffed into his chest as Steve explained that, no, the robots were fine, he was just... giving them a day off.

Peter sighed as the indistinct conversation continued, then pushed to his feet, Tony's arm reluctantly releasing him, but going no further than where he could rub a hand up and down Peter's back.

"I guess I could shower while we wait," Peter grumbled, turning to go.

"Oh sure, abandon me here," Tony said, voice rising in volume as Peter disappeared through the doorway again. "Alone! Friendless!" He looked down at his bowl. "Milkless! You're just like your father!"

"Thank God!" Peter yelled back, then the door to his bedroom shut.

Tony pursed his lips, then propped an elbow on the counter and rested his chin on it. He poked at the dry cereal with his spoon and considered going to the communal kitchen and stealing some of Thor's poptarts, then heading to the shop to get a jumpstart on his day.

Before a firm decision could be made, Peter's door slammed open again, jerking Tony out of his contemplations. He looked up just as Peter flew through the doorway into the kitchen, eyes wide.

"Dad—" he started, sounding more than a little panicked, and Tony pushed to his own feet, rounding the island to get to his son.

"What is it? Peter, what's—"

Peter whirled to stare at the window, jaw dropping, but before Tony could look and see what it was that had him so terrified Peter was swinging back. His arms came up, fingers curling back over his palms as he turned and Tony had only a half second to realize what was going on before Peter fired, the streams of webbing knocking Tony back and off his feet.

He flailed his arms, but couldn't stop his momentum, being carried along by the sticky, solidifying goop. _Dear God _, he had time to think, _it's never hit that hard—_and then his back and head slammed against something and everything went black.

o.o

Tony wasn't sure what happened when he first regained consciousness, but that was pretty par for the course—and some days he wondered how he'd gotten to this point in his life where "par for the course" was a thing he said about concussions, really, that couldn't be healthy or normal—and then the light that was stabbing into even his closed eyelids was blocked by something. His face relaxed and he muttered a fervent, "Oh thank god," and opened his eyes, expecting to see his loving husband or maybe one of his teammates—also, as he apparently said now, "par for the course"—but instead there were way too many rows of serrated teeth and what he was reasonably sure from deduction was a tongue and a throat—both because of the teeth and the godawful stench that could only be the worst case of halitosis ever.

A roar emerged from the inhuman mouth and actually sent his cheeks flapping with the force and his bones vibrating in his skin. The sensation of his heart beating itself to a bruise against the back of the arc reactor was just the icing on the terrifying cake he'd woken up to.

He tried to roll away and discovered two things:

1. He wasn't on the floor, he was against the wall.

2. He wasn't just leaning against the wall he was _stuck _to it.

A glance down showed that his situation was causes by a sticky white mass of fibers that he really hated trying to wash out of his hair when Peter got it into his head to be funny.

He looked back up when his sense of personal space—which, yes, he did totally possess against all popular opinion and reason—told him that the thing that had roared at him was still close by and getting closer.

The back of his head hit the wall with a painful thump as he found the already-forming lump and he hissed, but that was as much a reaction to the view as the pain.

A cold black nose pressed against his and sniffed a few times. Tony held very, very still, except for his eyes which followed the moist nose to a muzzle with thick brown fur and then on up to what looked like a grizzly bear's face if it had been run through Photoshop and then subjected to a 3-D printer.

Or a graphics processor from a video game in 1993.

The eyes had been moved back to the sides of the head so that instead of the narrower field of vision a normal bear would have, the … whatever this was… was more like a horse, seeing two mostly different views at the same time. The ears, though bear-shaped as far as Tony knew, were also not where he would have expected them, pushed together in the center of the wide, flat head that was definitely not bear-shaped. The thing was huge, though, so that was at least correct.

He didn't know what it looked like below the neck except for brown, but he had the definite sense that it was REALLY huge.

It turned the misshapen head to focus one eye on him and Tony swallowed down the urge to make any screaming and/or whimpering noises that might suggest he was prey and therefore meant to be eaten. He hadn't seen eyes that dead on corpses and, after going on twenty years of superheroing, he was unfortunately well acquainted with them.

He already knew it wasn't human from the teeth and the fur and the… everything, but he now knew that it wasn't even sentient. It was probably—hopefully—a lab experiment gone wrong, but if there had been a human in there at some point, they were long gone now.

Which meant that talking it down wasn't an option. But on the bright side, he also didn't have to worry about giving away his game when he said things like, "JARVIS, prep the armor."

"I am unable to do so at this time, sir," came back the answer that Tony really did not want to hear right now.

"JARVIS," he said, stressing the name to indicate that he was not in the mood for games.

"The… creature before you released some kind of fragmenting missile just prior to entry, each of which targeted a specific area of the Tower, including the access shafts to the penthouse level. I'm afraid you are cut off from the rest of the building."

"Okay," Tony said, then stopped, holding his breath as the creature swung its head back around and opened its mouth. A fresh wave of eau d'horror rolled out and Tony gagged and choked, though he tried to suppress the sound as much as possible. If it didn't eat him first, it might still kill him just by staying right here and breathing. "Where's the rest of the team?" he asked, turning his head partially away, but not so much he couldn't keep one eye on the beast.

"I have issued the alert, but only Captain Rogers is nearby. Agents Romanoff and Barton are on the Helicarrier. They have commandeered a Quinjet. Dr. Banner is in Queens, though he has excused himself the conference to return and is being escorted back by Mr. Hogan as we speak, and Thor is enroute from Dr. Foster's meeting in Albany. I'm afraid that none are expected to arrive in less than twenty minutes, except for Captain Rogers. He will arrive at the building in less than two minutes."

One massive paw slid down the wall from where it had been planted next to his head and with a delicacy Tony could never have anticipated, the four switchblade-sized claws were slid between his back and the wall. He panted his way through the slow-torture of having razors dragged across his skin, his shirt and skin both shredding under the touch and sending small trickles of wet warmth down his back.

"Oh god. Oh god. Oh god," he chanted. When the claws stopped and curled slightly, the points digging into his flesh, he couldn't help the whimper that escaped.

Then with a sharp tug he was flying again, ceiling and floor spinning around him in a nauseating kaleidoscope before it all exploded into stars as he hit the couch and rolled right over the back onto the floor.

He lay for a second, dazed and in agony, before he realized that he had barely missed landing on Peter.

"Peter," he said urgently, and pushed up, gritting his teeth against the pain, coughing and choking on the dust he kicked up when he landed. "Pete—" he tried again, but his mouth was dry and his head was a little fuzzier than he would have liked.

He managed to sit up and laid a hand on Peter's shoulder, shaking him briefly. His eyes locked onto the gash above Peter's eyebrow that was still sluggishly leaking and figured that had to be a good sign because if he was dead it would have stopped.

He pushed harder on the shoulder under his hand and worked up the best mouthful of spit he could, swishing it around and spitting to the side before trying again. "Peter!"

A groan was the response and, dear god, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard out of the kid after that first scream when he was born.

Peter rolled his head over and blinked open his eyes before settling for a pained squint. "Dad?"

Okay, third most beautiful thing.

"Hey. Hey there." He couldn't help smiling even though it hurt—but everything hurt so, in a way, nothing did—and cupped Peter's cheek in his palm. "Hi."

Peter's lips twitched, but before they could quite make it to a smile he groaned again and tried to roll away onto his side. "Oh man, what—" He squinted and looked around. "What happened?"

"You saved my life," Tony said.

Peter twisted back, pressing a hand to his side and hissing. A bone-rattling roar echoed through the room. Peter's eyes widened and the ground shook and Tony got an arm under Peter's shoulder and hauled him up in preparation for moving.

"Also, we were attacked by some kind of mutant bear. Time to go!"

"Some kind of _what _?" Peter stammered as they got to their feet, leaning on the couch as much as on each other.

They stopped to stare for a moment in horror at what was definitely some kind of bear mutant, though now that he could see the whole thing Tony thought it was more specifically a bear-shark hybrid, with the fur-covered triangular fin rising from its back and the tail made of more triangles swinging wildly behind it and knocking over chairs and debris from the destroyed window.

It swung its head and he thought he might have even glimpsed gills in the thick ruff of fur around its neck, but he couldn't be sure. It might have gotten cut coming through the glass or something.

Really, that was just an academic question anyway because unless that meant it was going to asphyxiate on them—which seemed unlikely at this point since it hadn't already and wasn't gasping and dying like it should be—then who cared?

There was another animal in the mix, but damned if Tony could say what it was beyond maybe "dinosaur" or "bat so horrifyingly large that he didn't even want to contemplate it". Whatever it was, it had contributed a pair of big-ass wings, awkward looking things what weren't as thin as a membrane like in bats, but weren't exactly feathered either.

Not only was it a violation of good taste and every ethical notion anyone had ever had, but he was pretty sure it gave a solid middle finger to physics as well.

And that was just not okay with him.

"Can you walk?" Tony asked quietly, eyes still locked on the behemoth as it rooted around, snuffling and searching for them. Thank god its eyesight was apparently shit, because it had looked right at them twice and not seen anything worth attacking.

"Yeah," Peter said. "What's the plan?"

"The plan," Tony said, "is for you to run to the bedroom and tell JARVIS to initiate the panic room protocol."

Peter nodded, then stopped and turned to look at him. "Wait, what? No way! I am not leaving you out here by yourself with that thing!"

"Don't argue with me, Peter!" Tony shot back. "I will be fine. JARVIS is already calling up the suit—"

"Bullshit."

"Watch your mouth!" Tony snapped, then froze as he realized what he'd said. He immediately recanted. "Oh my god, I am so sorry, I take that back. Swear like a sailor if you want, just go to the bedroom and hide!"

Peter couldn't help a snicker, but he shook his head. "No. If JARVIS could get you a suit, it would already be here. I'm not going to let that thing eat you while I hide under the bed."

Tony grabbed his shirt and yanked him close and yelled, "Then hide in the closet! Just _go _!" He shoved Peter away, vaulted over the couch, and scooped up a large piece of rebar. "Hey you!" The thing's head swung around, dead eye locking on him. The lip over those teeth—wrong for so many reasons—bared in warning. "Yeah, you big ugly... whatever. Over here!"

The beast snarled and took two steps in his direction, building up speed as it went. Tony danced backward, swinging his weapon with little skill, but more than making up for it with sheer force. He wished he could spare the attention to see if Peter had made it, to get what was looking like one last glance at his kid before he became breakfast for this monstrosity, but that would only hasten the inevitable and he needed to buy as much time as possible.

There was no way Steve hadn't been informed—either by the screams of people on the streets or JARVIS—that something was wrong up here. JARVIS said they were cut off, which was why none of the team had made it up yet. That was okay. They were certainly working on it and even if they didn't get here in time to save him, they'd be able to help Peter if he could just get into the room and lock it down.

A flap of those infuriating slab-like wings gave the thing a boost as it leapt toward him and Tony swung the rebar like a sword and yelled, "AAAAAAAAARGH!"

He landed on his back as he fell, cracking at least one rib and bruising a few others, but the sensation of them all being crushed under a thousand pounds of angry winged-bear-shark never came.

Instead there was a sound like a whip slicing through the air several times in succession and then a roar of feral rage and the crash of a thousand pounds of winged-bear-shark hitting the island in the kitchen instead.

Tony lifted his head to see Peter dangling by one hand from a web-rope attached to the ceiling, the other extended and firing short blasts of webbing at the creature, targeting its eyes, ears, and mouth. He wasn't hitting those spots every time, but he was getting closer with every shot.

Huge claws raked at the thing's face as it tried to remove the stuff, but that was only semi-successful.

"Yeah!" Peter crowed. He punctuated each word of his next sentence with a shot of webbing. "In. Your. Face!"

Tony blinked, then scrambled to his feet and snatched up his rebar and joined the fight.

It roared in frustration and tried to swipe at both of them, occasionally scooping things up with its paws and flinging them, but the longer it took, the less it was able to fight them on two fronts effectively.

And then it managed to get its head under a large chunk of the island—thick, heavy granite top and solid wood beneath, now a mess of jagged edges and splintery points—and thrust upward, hurling it toward Peter.

"Oh shit!" he cried and shot a fresh rope, swinging out of the way just before he would have been crushed under the projectile. Unfortunately, that same swing took him right into the reach of the creature who got in a lucky shot and cut through the rope holding him up.

"No!" Tony said, but it came out a whisper, not a bellow like he'd planned.

Peter hit the wall and slid down, then rolled over with a groan. He froze as he came nose to snout with the creature, then began frantically scrabbling backwards, unable to take his fear-widened eyes off of the thing sniffing him and dripping great big strings of drool on his t-shirt.

Tony swore he felt his heart stop in that moment.

The mouth opened, revealing a view to Peter that Tony knew from experience was terrifying beyond all reason, and he reacted. Not a single thought in his head but: _SAVE. MY. SON._

With a war cry that would have impressed even Thor, Tony bolted for the thing, planting the steel rod in his hand and using it like a pole vault to help him get high enough to land on the back of the creature. He smacked into the fin and felt it snap and bend under the impact. A second later he was clinging to it for dear life as the pain caused the mutant to rear back and very nearly dropped him on his ass again.

He grabbed onto the fin, savagely enjoying the further snarls and growls every time it moved and caused more pain. With the other hand he grabbed for a handful of fur, careful not to drop his rebar.

When the thing tried to turn and pull him down, he swung his weight into it and managed to get up on its back, though he didn't completely miss the swipe of its claws.

"AUGH! SON OF A—" he hissed and snarled. He looked at the fresh streak of red painting his leg, winced at the sight of his muscle laid bare, then turned his attention to more important matters: distracting or killing it so Peter didn't end up a chew toy.

The rebar came up and then down, ringing in his hands and numbing them a little as it connected with the solid bone of the thing's skull.

A roar and another attempt to buck him off were the response, but he pressed down and hugged it, clinging until it stopped enough for him to take a second shot at a concussion.

"Hey!" Peter shouted and both Tony and the creature whirled to see him, though only Tony was in danger of being thrown from the maneuver.

For the second time in far too short a period, Tony's heart stopped at the sight of his son in danger. This time it wasn't from being eaten but falling, though, really, he'd be just as dead and Tony couldn't even stomach the thought of either one. He stood on the very edge of the floor, back to the open sky, arms raised in a clear challenge.

"Peter," he said, again coming out more whisper than he wanted. "Peter, no!"

Peter's eyes flicked up to his, but he was grinning. It scared Tony to death to see that look on his son's face.

"Get ready to jump, Dad," was all he said to Tony. To the creature he taunted, "Come on! You wanna eat me? You gotta catch me!"

Tony felt the snarl echo through the massive body under his legs and his fingers tightened on the fur they clutched.

_"Peter, no!"_

"Come on!" Peter yelled, waving his arms.

In desperation, Tony raised the rebar, gripped it with both hands, and prepared to stab the creature through the neck. Before he got a chance to, it bucked up, wings flaring wide, and roared as Tony was flung back into the wall.

He cried out in agony as pain bloomed and more ribs cracked, his vision a field of stars and blackness that faded and surged.

Peter's cry of, "COME AND GET ME YOU BIG, UGLY BASTARD!" was like a bucket of cold water, though, and Tony lurched forward instinctively, landing on his hands and knees and snarling at the pain that tried to stop him from moving forward.

He heard a roar and the thump of feet impacting the floor and looked up just in time to see it barrel out the open window and plummet out of sight. Peter was nowhere to be seen.

A wave of icy cold swept over Tony, followed by the most complete numbness he'd ever experienced.

Which of course was when there was a creak and a crash and the sound of rending metal, followed by Steve's, "TONY! PETER!"

Tony didn't hear the sound he made, but Steve must have because there was another, "Tony?!" and then more footsteps pounding across the floor.

"Oh my God, Tony!" Steve said, dropping to his knees with a crunch as he landed on glass and other debris. Hands gripped Tony's shoulders and he was turned to see Steve's frantic face. "Tony?"

A surge of adrenaline flooded Tony's veins and he reached up and grabbed Steve's arms. "Peter," he said, but nothing else would come out. "_ Peter _!"

"Where is he?" Steve demanded.

Tony looked back to the window. "He— He— Oh God."

Steve's face drained of all color as he followed suit. He choked on a sound and then said, "He's not— How did he—" But one look at Tony's face was obviously enough to answer his aborted questions. "Oh God."

He pushed up and ran for the open wall, going so fast Tony thought he wasn't going to be able to stop. It energized him enough to get him up and chasing after, and, if Tony was inclined to be amused right now, he'd find it in the irony that Steve was the one who caught _him _and kept him from tumbling out into the abyss.

They arrived just in time to see the monstrosity crack the asphalt of the road as it cratered into a thankfully clear stretch of road. A band of white was wrapped around it, the reason the impossible wings hadn't been able to save it.

Tony could see no sign of Peter on the street, but neither could he see him on any neighboring buildings or roofs.

"_Peter_," Steve breathed, and it sounded at least as wrecked as Tony felt after fighting the thing in hand-to-hand stupidity.

Tony had no idea how long they stood there, clinging to each other, before Steve's hand on his waist tightened and pulled him away. He resisted at first, fingertips clinging to the bent edges of the window frame, but he could barely hold himself up, let alone resist the pull of his super strong husband.

He was shepherded back to the couch, which had been flipped at some point Tony didn't remember. A single hand from Steve was enough to right it and then Tony was gently pushed to sit.

His eyes skated over the ruins of their home, the damage to things, but he couldn't process it right now. It didn't even matter. He was rich as hell and could replace it all a thousand times over and it still didn't matter because _Peter _.

Steve's forehead came to rest on his shoulder, those arms wrapping around Tony's chest, carefully, like he knew that Tony's ribs were fragile right now.

"Widow, report," Steve said, voice low and skating that edge of control.

Tony couldn't hear anything more than a soft sort of murmur that said she was responding. Of course, everything was sort of dissolving into a kind of buzz anyway, so—

Steve sat up abruptly, his hands tightening just a fraction. "Wait, what?"

Tony turned to look at him, throat working around the painful lump stuck there.

"Are you…" Steve's voice shook and he had to stop and clench his jaw. "Are you sure? Hawkeye, give me confirmation."

When Steve all but melted against him, jostling his ribs and forcing Tony to actually get a grip and push back a little lest he be crushed, he didn't even know what to feel.

Hope? Terror? Relief? Despair? He still didn't even know what had hap—

Steve breathed, "Peter's alive," into his shoulder. Steve sagged further and Tony was nearly crushed then as his own muscles gave way under the unexpected weight, a brief, breathy, "Ow!" escaping.

Steve said, "Oh God, Tony! I'm so sorry!" and pushed up, dragging Tony with him and crushing him against his chest.

"He's alive. He's okay," he repeated, a prayer and a promise and a plea all at once.

"He's…" was all Tony could say, though in his head the rest was running like a news channel tickertape on fast forward.

Steve shuddered out a breath, hot tears soaking into Tony's shirt and very nearly taking him apart.

A whoosh and a thump at the window and they both turned, hope rising and then crashing when they saw it was only Thor.

"My brothers," the god of thunder said in greeting as he strode across the room. His eyes skimmed the damage, but came back to Tony and Steve as the latter stood.

Thor came to a stop a few feet away, his face crinkling with joy as he smiled. "Young Peter is well and safe in the medical chambers. The elevators are still damaged, though, and will be for some time, I am told. I came to bring you down as well, Man of Iron. Peter said you were gravely injured."

"He is," Steve confirmed, before Tony could respond, earning him a glare.

"I'm fine," Tony said, but when he tried to stand, his ribs and his leg all started screaming at once and he would have fallen back down if not for a large hand on each side catching him.

"He's really not," Steve said, voice shaded with annoyance and worry.

"I think I will take the word of those who truly value your health in this matter," Thor said, sounding amused.

"Are you saying I don't value my own health?" Tony asked. The smirks and looks of understanding between the two men was not very supportive of them. "Whatever. How is Peter? How did he even survive the fall, I mean—"

"I have not heard the whole tale," Thor said, "I am sorry. I know only that he was able to use his gifts to catch himself and Hawkeye was able to assist him in reaching safety once more. You will have to ask young Peter for the story."

Tony grimaced, both at the delay and the knowledge that however they did this it was going to hurt. Still, if it got him to Peter sooner... "Yeah, okay. Let's get this party moving, shall we?"

"Excellent idea," Steve seconded.

Between the two of them they got him upright again and Thor carefully settled an arm around Tony's waist. "You'll want to hold on as best you can," he warned, unnecessarily since this wasn't nearly the first time they'd done this dance—granted, Tony was more commonly in Thor's place with someone else from the team being ferried about, but he had been here a time or two over the years.

He sighed and muttered under his breath as he returned the hug. Just as Thor lifted his hammer, Tony looked at Steve. "See you down there?"

Steve nodded. "I'll be taking the elevator, though. Well, the shaft anyway."

Tony's lips quirked automatically at the joke that sprang to mind, but kept silent. It wasn't really the time or place.

"I can return for you as well, Captain," Thor offered.

"Nah," Steve said, waving it off. "I've got the gear and you need to keep Tony from wandering out of medical before they're done with him."

Thor laughed and Tony glared, but Steve just smirked.

He darted in for a quick kiss and then said, "I'll see you down there."

Thor twirled his hammer and they blasted off, the rush of wind forcing Tony to close his eyes. And if anyone asked, it was the same thing that caused the tears on his face.

o.o

The landing was rough, but that was probably mostly due to Tony being in less than stellar shape.

When the initial wave of darkness cleared and the urge to vomit all over Thor's boots was suppressed, Tony heard a relieved, "Dad!" and looked up to see Peter rushing toward him.

He skidded to a stop before contact was made, but Tony decided screw that and pushed off of Thor, more falling onto Peter than gathering him up, but, eh, semantics.

Peter caught him with that crazy strength of his and they spent some of the most painful—and relief-filled—moments of Tony's life just hugging.

Tony pressed a hand to the back of Peter's head, his cheek brushing the kid's temple. He could feel Peter's breath puffing out against his neck and smell the faded scent of the product he put in his hair to make it stand up like it did. He also smelled the rank odor of unwashed teenage male who was still sweating from an impromptu battle, but it was better than the stench of death, so Tony wasn't going to complain.

Peter's fingers were digging into his back, and his ribs weren't entirely pleased with this, startling a huffed breath out of him when they shifted painfully. Peter jumped and tried to pull away, but Tony just tightened his grip and bent his head to press a kiss to the hair tickling his nose.

After a moment, Peter relented and stopped trying to pull free, though his hold on Tony was much more gentle.

Tony rubbed a hand up and down the bony line of Peter's spine, feeling the muscles flex with each breath.

He was still alive. Tony's eyes closed and he just repeated that to himself again and again.

Peter was still alive and he was okay—more okay than Tony at least—and everything else they could deal with later.

"Thank god," Tony breathed, fingers wrapping around the back of Peter's neck and just… just feeling the kid there, alive, okay. Mostly okay. He'd like more, but he'd take this any day over what could have been.

"I thought you were…" Tony managed to get out, throat closing up and cutting off the rest.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dad, I didn't mean— I just knew— I had to do something, he was gonna kill you and—" Peter's own voice spiraled upward until he too couldn't speak.

Tony tightened his grip and then turned his head to press a kiss to Peter's forehead, having to work at it to stop from covering him in kisses like he used to do when Peter still fit in his lap and needed a bigger hand covering his to turn a screwdriver.

"I… Thank you. Don't you _ever _scare me like that again, but— But thank you."

Peter just nodded and buried his face against Tony's chest, sniffling and soaking it through with tears.

A soft tapping sound drew Tony's attention down and he looked to see Peter drumming his fingers softly on the arc reactor cover. Peter turned his gaze upward and smiled, wobbly and watery, but a smile.

Tony smiled at the familiar habit of Peter's and pressed a kiss to his head. "You're a good kid. When you're not giving me a heart attack." Peter flushed and ducked his head, making himself look even younger.

Yeah, Tony was never letting go of this kid again.

Sadly, this plan was interrupted by his leg deciding it had had more than enough of this shit and giving out on him. Again, Peter caught him, assisted by Thor, and between the two of them they basically carried him into the medical bay, ignoring his protests and threats of grounding.

By the time Steve arrived, hair a tufted mess and a streak of grease on his cheek from climbing down the elevator shaft, Tony had been manhandled into a bed, cut out of his clothes, and poked and prodded more than he was ever going to be happy with.

But Peter was in the next bed getting much the same treatment, a deal brokered between them by Natasha that they could only stay in the same room if they cooperated.

She, Thor, Clint, and Bruce were all hanging out in the corners of the rooms, watching closely, but otherwise staying out of the way.

Steve wasn't nearly capable of such a hands-off approach just yet.

He touched Tony's foot as he passed and got a smile and a nod, but it was Peter's bed he was aiming for.

"Pop!" Peter said and wiggled over to the edge of the bed, opening his arms for the hug he knew was coming. Sure enough, he was quickly gathered up against his father's chest and being carefully, but tightly hugged to within an inch of his life.

Steve leaned back after a moment, but didn't let go yet, running a hand up and over Peter's head to check for soundness and head injuries. Not that Steve doubted the medical team, but some things needed to be checked for oneself.

"I'm fine. Dad is the one who has a concussion," Peter assured him.

A gentle finger was traced around the stitches in the cut over his eye and down over the trail of blood that hadn't been washed away yet and Peter said, "It looks worse than it is, I promise. You know how head wounds bleed."

Steve kissed the skin just above the cut and then resumed the hug.

"You took ten years off of my life, young man," he said, but it wasn't nearly firm enough to be authoritative.

"I'm sorry," Peter said sincerely. "I just… it was gonna _kill_ Dad. I couldn't—"

"I know," Steve said. "And I'm very proud of you. Just… maybe don't jump out of the living room next time?"

Peter laughed. "Sorry. I can't promise that."

"Oh yes you can," Tony called. "Until you're eighteen at least, because if you don't you can just forget all about your driver's license."

Peter shrugged. "Okay. Traveling by web is easier anyway. Don't have to worry about it being stolen or having to look for a parking spot."

"Dammit!" Tony cursed. "Steve!"

Steve laughed, but just squeezed Peter again and ruffled his hair gently. "Don't torment your father."

"Okay, okay, fine. Sorry, dad."

"Hmph," Tony said, pouting. He considered, then tapped his cheek.

Peter made a sound like he was very much being put upon unfairly, and his shoulders were slumped as he slipped out of Steve's grasp and crossed the room, but his voice was very sincere as he said, "I'm sorry for worrying you," and kissed Tony's cheek.

Tony slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him into a sideways hug. "I know, kiddo. Just remember I'm not Xavier or Jean. I can't read your mind when you decide to jump and wrestle a flying bear shark to the ground. Give me a heads up next time, okay?"

"Okay."

There was a moment of content silence, and then Peter lifted his head and said, "So, where's the milk, Pop? I'm _starving_."

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